


The Illusion of Power

by fragilelittleteacup



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, False Crying, Hannibal and Will live together, M/M, Manipulative!Will, Oral Sex, Riding, Will is a sneaky little shit, also very pretty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 03:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6314188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will knows.<br/>But Hannibal isn't aware of that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Illusion of Power

“Did you enjoy tonight?”

Will stepped into the quiet of their home.

Their home.

The lair of the Chesapeake Ripper was his place, his sanctum. Gone were his dogs, his fishing, his rough edges. He felt polished. Refined, like the sharpest knife fashioned from gritty stone. The comfort of his past lingered at his back, breathing pleas against his neck to return to morals and sense and goodwill.

But he could see the road before him. Stained with crimson, clean as the house he now knew was his. Violent as the storm that shared his bed.

“Will?”

A hand touched Will's back gently, through the fabric of the tuxedo he'd been forced to wear to the latest opera.

“Yes.” Will’s eyes were hooded, his voice quiet. “I did.”

Hannibal’s hand slid around to his waist. Will closed his eyes as the predator stalked slowly around to face him. The fox wearing sheepskin, wearing a mask of innocence. A body of lies.

Will could tear it all away. Rip at the false flesh and find the monster underneath, find Hannibal Lecter beneath the skin of the man he’d possessed.

“William.” A hand on his face, stroking. Concern. “William?”

Will wondered whether Hannibal would care if he were to die. Was he capable of such feeling?

He opened his eyes and looked up at him. Looked up into eyes filled with concern, a face tightened at the edges with worry. Will’s fingers itched to tear at that face, test it, know where that concern came from. Was any of it real? He had no doubt that Hannibal was fascinated with him. Fascinated with breaking him.

Perhaps…

Will closed his eyes again, tilted his head.

Perhaps Hannibal would be dismayed if he were broken on another’s terms. His own terms.

Hannibal’s lips found his, gentle, careful. His hand on Will’s chest.

“I want you,” Will whispered.

 

 

He knew.

That was the best part.

He moved slowly, rocking his hips by firelight. Eyes closed, head bowed, as if in prayer. Hannibal’s hands were on his thighs, and he loved it. Loved that the touch was exactly as it had been before, loved knowing Hannibal had always been using him- loved that he _knew,_ now, that he was in control.

Because, now, he was someone else. He carried with him the weight of such a bloody, violent, hideous, ancient and beautiful secret.

He was the Will Graham who was on par with the Chesapeake Ripper.

“Stay with me, William.”

He tipped his head back as hands found him, stroked him. He was no sheep. He could see behind the flesh of the Shepard’s mask.

And he knew Hannibal needed him.

“William.”

“I’m with you.” Will whispered, because he knew it was what Hannibal needed to hear. He knew he had become something precious, something to be coveted and worshipped. He was the angel of this god complex. “I’m with you.”

He rolled his head down, mouth agape in a way he knew Hannibal liked, and swayed his body forward. Hannibal’s face showed very little, but his eyes were no less hungry than before. He pretended to the role of the caring lover, but Will knew. He knew Hannibal wanted to roll them over, shove Will beneath him, and take control. But this was a game.

And Will knew, now, that he was playing.

He drove forward, faster, quicker, more desperate. Hannibal’s nails against his thighs. Hips pressing up into him, gentler than normal. Pretending.

“I’m sorry.” He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, gasped, grimaced.

“Why, dear Will?” Hannibal’s voice was soft, breathless.

“I’m sorry.” He knew what role he needed to play. The one where he was distraught, the one where the guilt tore him to pieces. The one where he was out of control, desperate- afraid and conflicted, body moving faster and faster and faster in a war against his conscience. “I…oh god-” Lips wet, shining. Eyes closed. His dark curls mussed, made inky black by the fire. Face tormented, cheeks pink with shame and heat, body illuminated by the fireplace. It was as much about aesthetics as anything else; Hannibal needed the art, needed to savour the game he thought he was wining. Keep him hungry. Keep him _ravenous._ “I- I can’t-”

Hannibal’s eyes tightened. Once, Will would’ve thought that was worry, concern. Now he knew what it really was; a mask. And he knew what it hid.

Violence.

“William…”

“I’m sorry I need you like this. I’m sorry I need you so much. You shouldn’t have to-” He moaned, hips stuttering. The heat was almost too much. He wondered how Hannibal did it; just lay there and _resisted._ Truly a testament to his determination- Will was just happy his tactic allowed him to at least enjoy the sex. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I- I’m- oh god- I’m not-”

He cried.

He knew Hannibal liked that.

“I love you, William. You know I do-”

“I know, I know, I just-” Forward, faster, deeper. Hands on Hannibal’s chest, fingers spread, back aching. Tears blurring the room. “Hannibal -”

“It’s alright,” Hannibal pushed himself up to kiss him, an arm reaching around his waist. “Believe me. Please, believe me.”

Will hitched his breath, enough that Hannibal would notice, not enough to be overly obvious. Hannibal shushed him, and pressed upwards. Will cried out, forehead against Hannibal’s shoulder, cheeks wet with tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“Shh…”

“H- annibal.” He spoke in breaths, terrified exhales, punctured by Hannibal’s thrusts, shaken between syllables. Staged eroticism. “I love-”

“I know.” He was so tender, so loving, so gentle. Whispering, moving slowly, as if Will was broken, as if Will was precious and needed to be handled with care. A fragile little teacup, that was what Hannibal had called him- and Will intended to make the most of that. He would be the shivering, quaking, helpless shell that he had been before. And he knew Hannibal would fall for it.

How could he possibly resist?

“There’s no one, no one else, I- I love you.” Will made it sound like he’d never come to that conclusion before, but it wasn’t far from the truth; he had never loved the real Hannibal Lecter before.

“As I love you.”

Will clutched him. Faking fear.

“ _I love you.”_

 

***

 

There had been satisfaction in Hannibal’s voice, in his movements, in his air when he had pulled Will to his side afterwards- just like their first time. He believed he had won. He believed he had finally reconnected, finally regained intimacy with his protégé. With his puppet.

Will pressed his cheek against the curve of Hannibal’s neck, and smiled, feeling the warm arm holding him still. Hannibal was so tender. So caring. Will was held, and knew those hands would just as easily end his life. The thought had him euphoric.

Knowing he had Hannibal on a leash. Knowing his hands held their future- despite any illusion Hannibal upheld. Knowing that he _knew_ and Hannibal could look into his eyes and be blind to it.

All that power.

It was his.

 

***

 

Hannibal was awake when Will woke. He smiled and lifted himself up to press a kiss against Hannibal’s mouth. His plan stretched before him, cruel and simple.

“Morning.”

“Good morning.” Hannibal’s eyes crinkled.

It was simple, then, to coax Hannibal into what he needed. He kissed him, trailing touches down Hannibal’s body, looked at him imploringly before swallowing him into his mouth. He had Hannibal gasping quietly, still slightly sleepy, the two of them moving slowly in a haze of morning heat. Touching himself, moving languidly above the sheets, arm stretched back to prepare himself with his fingers. He knew Hannibal would never be able to resist that.

It was only a matter of time before he found himself on his back.

Hannibal kissed his neck, hands touching, massaging, caressing, holding. He moved slowly, gently. Caring. Loving. Soft murmurs and quiet sighs.

Will laid back and enjoyed it.

He smirked at the ceiling when Hannibal wasn’t looking.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> let's face it, Hannibal is so manipulative that he probably deserves someone to screw with his sense of control... so I wrote this fic.  
> Hope you enjoyed it!!!


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